The Long Dark
by Omega436
Summary: Ex-Brotherhood Sentinel Simon Atwater, after his sudden exit from the Brotherhood, sees his community captured by the Brotherhood and himself abducted by an old enemy of the Brotherhood. Now, Simon must retake the fortified compound of Sanctuary, but will discover how far he and his new companions are willing to go in the name of vengeance. *SEQUEL TO CROSSED PATHS*
1. Chapter 1: Defeat

Simon pressed himself against the wall and slowly leaned his head left, hoping the raiders wouldn't notice him. Sure as he expected, there were three of them, standing around talking, unaware of the infiltrator. They were still talking about whatever it was raiders talk about in their free time when the volley of shots rang out and all three fell to the floor. "Good night," said Simon aloud as he broke from his cover and began to search the bodies. Finding nothing of value, he set his eyes on a trunk in the corner. As he opened it up, he noticed something of particular interest. "What have we here?" he said, reaching for the item.

He was so focused on whatever had intrigued him that he failed to notice a fourth raider he had clearly missed. The raider had realized he had forgotten his gun before he left the building and had returned to retrieve it, only to discover most of the gang dead and someone rooting through their stash. The raider looked nervously around before deciding to attack. The intruder looked pretty well-equipped, and everyone else was dead. If he could get the drop on and kill the guy, he'd be set - he'd finally have what he needed to leave the gang, to get out someplace far away and survive. The raider noticed a loose board nearby. It was crude, but it just might be enough.

Simon was pretty sure the item was a combat mask of some kind - supposedly rare on the East Coast - but he didn't get time to verify as out of the shadows came a fourth raider, screaming and wildly swinging a board at him. Simon rolled away quick enough to avoid being clubbed over the head, but not quick enough to not get hit at all. With a mighty crack, the board collided into his shoulder. Simon screamed in pain and violently kicked out at the attacker, staggering him. Pressing the advantage, Simon barreled towards the man and tackled him to the ground, before bringing his elbow down on the man's windpipe. It was enough. Taking no precautions, in case some miracle happened to save him, Simon carefully withdrew his pistol and fired one round into the man's throat. The pistol kicked out of Simon's one hand and he cursed as he went to retrieve it. "The shoulder… it's always the goddamn shoulder," he said through gritted teeth as he applied a Stimpak with his one good arm. As the pain slowly subsided, Simon finished looting the trunk and left the building, unsatisfied. Sure, there was the cool mask, but he hadn't found any scrap components or anything that was needed back at Sanctuary. Everyone back there would not be too happy about that.

"Can you see him?" "Hang on, switching magnification. There. I have a confirmed visual. Leaving a hardware store." "Keep an eye on him. See where he returns to." "Yes sir. Anything else?" "Negative, Scout. Keep up the good work. Over and out." "Copy sir. Over and out."

The walk from the hardware store back to Sanctuary was not a short one, so Simon had plenty of time to think as his footsteps echoed across the Commonwealth. It had been almost three months since his self-imposed, however now fully enforced, exile from the Brotherhood. Maxson was none too pleased about his best Sentinel telling everyone who asked him about his negative experiences, and had wasted three three-man squads in attempted captures, or if it came to it, assassinations. Simon was pretty damn convinced Maxson wasn't about to waste a fourth. Despite his disillusionment with the Brotherhood, he did not hate its soldiers, or even Maxson himself. Simon would've been more than content to simply live and let live, with he and the Brotherhood going their separate ways. The Brotherhood, or more accurately, Maxson, believed that if their most decorated and published soldier suddenly started spouting off about how awful the Brotherhood is, it would turn public opinion against them, which was already very low. Sometimes he wondered if he had made the wrong decision, or acted too hastily. Ultimately he believed though it may have been a hasty decision at the time, it had been a long time coming. Willful blindness was a powerful thing when you needed it to.

Above and ahead of Simon, a fleet of Vertibirds flew towards their destination. "Which one of you swapped my plasma cartridges for fusion cells and thought I wouldn't notice!?" The only response was howls of laughter from one of the other men in the Vertibird. "It's not funny! I can't use anything but my pistol now!" The soldiers' commander silenced the chatter. "Oh, pipe down," he laughed, tossing him a spare cartridge. "Better make those shots count, rookie." The rookie only looked at his boots, saying no more. Unbeknownst to him, the cartridge was empty. The rook would pull the trigger and not a wisp would appear. Hazing rituals weren't supposed to be done on missions, but the squad was in need of some laughs - it didn't matter if it were at someone else's expense. And besides, it had happened to them all at some point.

Sanctuary. Its name had proven true. It was well-known by survivors and Commonwealth residents that the community to the Northwest was a place of refuge, where those injured or lost or simply in need could stay. There were rumours that some were invited to be permanent residents if the leaders liked them enough. It had humble beginnings, but over time it grew to become a veritable safe zone. A high concrete wall extended around the perimeter where previously had only been wire fencing. There were still issues with finding enough power to run electric fencing, so right now the citizens were forced to be content with switch-operated gates and armed guard towers as perimeter defense. As Simon approached Concord, his thoughts began to drift about everything that needed to be done back home. To top things off there was the issue of outposts brought to him by one of the citizens. Sure, having other safe houses across the Commonwealth wasn't a bad idea, but it was only a matter of time until someone else planted their flag there, or one of the settlers decided they didn't want to come back to Sanctuary and would rather go it with the safehouse so graciously provided by Simon and the Sanctuary residents. Simon knew he would have to deal with this issue and many others. Tonight he would call a general meeting.

The residents of Sanctuary were first the original five members of the Minutemen Simon had saved what seemed like forever ago. Since then, the community had grown, accepting new people as needs allowed. Eventually, the number settled around a nice even fifty people. After a gruelling debate between the council members (originally consisting of Simon, Sturges, Preston, and later, the doctor and head merchant), the decision was reached to close the community, except where all the leaders allowed them in. It was this decision that had attracted the attention of some pretty powerful players in the Commonwealth. It was Preston who first noticed the three Vertibirds slowly hovering over the walls. They lowered themselves, and twelve soldiers clad in full Power Armor and carrying plasma rifles hopped out and began walking up the street to what seemed to be the centre of town. By this point a large crowd had started to gather. When most people were staring down the soldiers, one of them, presumably the leader, stepped forward and spoke.

"Squad Alpha. Fan out and check the buildings. Squad Beta, run a search of the perimeter. Squad Gamma, stay here. Crowd control." With the orders out of the way, the squads dispatched and began performing their duties. A couple residents ran after them towards the buildings, but were kept at bay by Squad Gamma. The leader spoke again. "Attention residents of Sanctuary. The Brotherhood of Steel has come to you with a request. We are looking to increase our range of operation in the Commonwealth and your community is a prime candidate for a forward operating base. Are your leaders present? Whoever they are please step forward so we may discuss this." Four of the five leaders stepped forward, with the fifth leader currently on his way, to arrive shortly. The leader surveyed the four and then made a quiet radio back to his commander, in a whisper. "He's not here. Orders?" Upon hearing the response he turned to face the four. "Well? Are you all willing to discuss?"

"We aren't willing to discuss anything until all the council is present," spoke one of them.

The leader's radio buzzed sharply. "What?" he whisper-yelled. "Sir, with all due respect, if there's a chance we can do this… fine. Yes sir. I understand. Over and out." His tone was grave. "Unfortunately I am going to have to ask you to cooperate. As of this moment everything within the walls now belongs to the Brotherhood of Steel. Please, do the smart thing and do not try to fight us." His words were not far out of his mouth before the fight started.

Simon was just outside the Sanctuary gate when he heard the sounds coming from within. The gate was closed, and he tried to signal whoever was up in the guard tower. From inside he could hear screams, and gunfire - both ballistic and energy. Suddenly, he remembered another way in. He sprinted around the left side of the compound and ran down by the riverbank. There was a medium-sized rock nestled into the side of the hill next to the river. With all his might, Simon pushed the rock out of the way, revealing a small tunnel leading in towards Sanctuary. He crawled through the tunnel and entered into a small underground storage area. Someone had tried to improvise a fallout shelter, likely unable to get into Vault 111. Simon clambered up the ladder to the exit, carefully opened one side of the hatch slightly, and discovering the area clear, hopped out. Above ground, the citizens were all taking cover in the various buildings, engaged in a firefight. If the Brotherhood soldiers were to storm the buildings, they would stand an even chance of taking down the civilians, but at the same time there might be enough civilians to overwhelm the soldiers. Despite that, Simon didn't like their odds. Pulling out his rifle, he took aim and fired at one of the soldiers.

"I have eyes on target, I repeat, I have eyes on target. He has just exited a root cellar and is now engaged in a firefight with Brotherhood soldiers at Sanctuary Hills. I repeat, firefight at Sanctuary Hills. Orders, sir?" "Intervene. They stand a solid chance of capturing him. Keep him alive until we can get there." "Yes sir. Deploying Vertibird flare. Over and out."

The rookie of the platoon recoiled. Three bullets had struck him, hard, from behind. He wheeled around and saw a figure pointing a high-powered rifle at him. He had to strike fast. In one swift motion, he swung his plasma rifle around, aimed and fired. The shot would have struck the figure dead centre, critically injuring him… had the rookie not fallen victim to the prank from earlier. The rifle was completely empty. Frantically, the soldier scrambled for his pistol as the fourth shot rang out. The bullet struck him in the neck and the rookie fell to the ground, dead. The two other soldiers next to him suddenly turned around and noticed their fallen comrade and his killer. One stayed with the fallen soldier, the other gave chase.

Simon turned and ran, in hot pursuit by the Brotherhood soldier. He ran through the backyards, almost halfway around the perimeter, before he noticed more Vertibirds in the sky, coming to land in the open field they had. More power armored soldiers hopped out and quickly began to fan out. An explosion rang out in the distance as a bullet struck Simon in his combat armor as he was running. He lost his balance and fell to the ground, landing on his injured arm. Simon tried to stagger to his feet as two Brotherhood soldiers began moving towards him, before more shots rang out and they retreated to cover. One of the new soldiers, wearing a kind of power armor Simon had never seen before, began to drag him back towards the Vertibird. Simon tried to kick and struggle but had lost all the energy. His vision began to swim as the Vertibird lurched up into the air. He saw the Brotherhood soldiers storming buildings and more shots ringing out. He tried to scream and found no air in his lungs. One of the soldiers spoke to him. "It's okay. You're going to be okay," was all Simon heard before he slipped into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2: Aftermath

After the dust had cleared and the fighting had stopped, the three Brotherhood soldiers that had engaged Simon looked at each other, all unsure of exactly what had just happened, but completely sure of one thing: the Paladin wasn't going to like this. As they milled about Sanctuary, rounding up the residents that had wisely surrendered and the ones that were defeated, each of them tried to describe in their heads how they could break the news to Paladin Skye. Even in their mental scenarios, none of them were pleasant outcomes. Skye was a hell of a commander and a dedicated Paladin, but had a self-described "allergy to failure". This being the case, Skye was in for a hell of an allergic reaction.

"Knights! Fall in!" came Skye's call. Immediately all the remaining Knights fell in at the meeting point, which happened to be outside a wood and steel "meeting-house", which was actually just Sanctuary's community hall. Of the total eleven knights, only Squads Beta and Gamma filed back in. Squad Alpha remained, guarding the civilians that had surrendered, now locked in one of the houses. Four Knights had died in the skirmish. One was the rookie that Simon killed. Two had fallen victim trying to clear the armory, which some smarter civilians had wisely holed up in. Sadly, their firepower wasn't enough to save them once a few more soldiers rushed the place. The fourth was killed when an injured citizen with more courage than most of the people he was fighting took a live grenade thrown by the soldier and hurled it back at him. The other seven had survived, but some were licking wounds. The fact that four had died to these barely trained civilians had dealt a blow to morale.

"Squad Beta. You ran cleanup. Give me a status report." The squad hesitantly exchanged looks between them, and then back at Skye. Eventually, the most experienced Knight, ie. the de facto leader, stepped forth.

"Paladin. Reported 13 casualties. 6 fatalities. Four Brotherhood, two civilians. Perimeter is secure, but we need to wait until the rest show up to properly guard it."

Skye digested this information silently for a moment, then spoke in a voice just above a whisper. "Tell me about these four fatalities of ours." The squad conferred again, and then the leader spoke again.

"Two from Squad Alpha, one from Squad Beta, one from Squad Gamma. One Alpha died from a rethrown grenade. Another was shot four times by a very high-powered rifle. The other two died trying to capture the armory. Those civilians are bolder than we gave them credit for. We, uh, have their tags, sir." Skye accepted them wordlessly and then raised a question.

"Tell me more about this high-powered rifle," Skye said. Another member of Squad Beta stepped up.

"Well, the rookie from Alpha was the one that got killed, sir. We followed the path from the body to the direction of the gunfire and found spent casings. Looks like .50 caliber. Whoever it was obviously wasn't present at the start. We would've obviously noticed if he was packing a gun like that." Skye nodded, in thought. "Oh! I should also mention that we examined the rookie's rifle. It looks like his cartridge was empty. Even if he fired, nothing would have come out. It's likely that's why he died - he didn't have a weapon in his own defense or to cover a retreat."

Over near the prisoners, the head of Squad Alpha lost all colour in his face. Luckily, no one else could see it, as his helmet was still on. He had been fighting next to the rookie when he died. He had identified him - and discovered exactly why he never got a shot off in his own defense. "Oh God…" he gasped under his breath. One of the other members turned to look at him. "What was that, sir?" The captain could only shake his head and fix his gaze on his rifle sights. His little prank had gotten one of their own killed. His stomach churned and knotted itself into shapes and forms he could not describe. Forcing his eyes back on the prisoners, he began to breathe deeply.

Back at the house, Skye was trying to find out who this mysterious stranger was. "Did anyone happen to identify the man who killed the rookie? Or were you all just standing there with your thumbs up your asses and not doing the one thing you're always supposed to do: protect your people!"

"Sir! Permission to report!" called out one of the soldiers from Alpha, still on prisoner guard. Skye walked towards him. "What are you doing?!" hissed the leader at him under his breath. "We're gonna get triple punishment! Mirelurk duty! In civilian clothes!" Skye stood next to the soldier. "What do you have to report for me, soldier?" The soldier cleared his throat. The captain started to sweat.

The soldier had not been with the Brotherhood long, but had been captivated by the legends of the heroes of the Wastelands, clad in shiny metal armour and protecting the people, just like the ancient Knights he had read about in that book he bought from that trader. The virtues of honour and glory and, of course, brotherhood, were all he ever wanted from life. To protect the people and have a sense of fellowship, some _esprit de corps_, made him happy. It was the virtue of honesty he channeled now, with his story. " Sir, myself and the captain were fighting with the rookie. I swear to you, we didn't hear the bullets. There was so much commotion going on. We saw the rookie turn around and then we saw the guy fire the fourth bullet, the one that killed him. The captain stayed to see if the rookie was still alive and could be saved. I gave chase, sir. I tried to keep up with him, even fired a few warning shots, but he kept running. A couple other soldiers, I think from Gamma, joined in. We all could kinda see the big gun. One of them got him in the chest, but he was wearing some kind of armour or something, cause he didn't die. Then, sir…" He hesitated, very unsure of whether or not he should say what happened next. What had happened next would get all of them in severe trouble. Skye gestured with his hand that he should finish the story. The soldier gulped. "Then, sir… some more Vertibirds came down. These other soldiers hopped out and started firing at us. The three of us tried to fire back, but we were outmanned and outgunned. They grabbed the guy that we shot and took him into the Vertibirds, and they flew away. Those weren't ours, sir. I don't know whose they were. They looked the same as ours, and they even had power armor. It looked quite different though. It looked more like some big cat than our standard military look." He finished the story and inhaled quite deeply. "That's all sir."

Skye turned from Knight to Knight, eyeing them all. His piercing gaze eventually came to rest on the leader of Squad Alpha. Skye's even steps thundered toward the hapless captain and he stopped dead, inches from his face. "You… hazed… the fucking ROOKIE… during a LIVE FIRE mission!? Are you so dense that you never once stopped to consider, 'Oh hey, maybe HE COULD DIE if he can't fire his damn weapon'!? However much radiation must be melting your brains right now is no excuse!" The captain could offer no words of rebuttal, only weak nodding. Skye turned to the rest of them. "Let this be a lesson to all of you. If you're going to haze someone, don't do it before entering the combat zone! As for you, captain. Ghoul duty and power armor suspension for the next 6 weeks. I'm beyond disgusted with all of you right now." The words hung heavy in everyone's ears and mind, and then were interrupted by Skye's second rant. "Secondly, to you, soldier." Skye pointed at the greenhorn who had recounted the events. "These vertibirds. Were they ours? Their armor you mentioned. You said it looked more like a big cat. Are you absolutely certain you didn't mistake these Vertibirds for our landed ones?"

The young soldier thought for a moment before shaking his head. "No sir, not at all. Their power armor had two pointy bits sticking up like a cat. They weren't round and smooth like our T-60s. Looked more like the experimental model Teagan's got on display back at the Prydwen. As for the Vertibirds, I swear I didn't see the Brotherhood sign. I couldn't really see it that well but it looked like a circle of stars, I want to say."

Skye turned pale. "No… it couldn't be… we beat them. We destroyed them… They can't be back," he said, more to himself than anything. After a moment of two, Skye spoke again. "All of you are dismissed. You are to stay at Sanctuary and assist in reworking the compound for our needs. All of you know your roles, time to perform them. I need to speak to Elder Maxson. Immediately." Without a second word, he started off in the direction of the Vertibirds. All of the other soldiers merely stood in silence before shuffling off to do their respective duties.

The flight to the Prydwen was a clear one for the pilot and a turbulent one for Victor Skye. Skye had several problems on his mind. Four of his soldiers under his command had died in one raid, one of them preventable all thanks to an idiot captain trying to haze the rookie. Sanctuary had been secured, but the one person they really came for had been there, been wounded, and then rescued by the… invaders like the hand of God himself before they could get to him! He forced himself to think about the invaders. "Please, don't let there be an E in that circle of stars…" he said aloud. Skye had been a Paladin for three years, and a Knight for seven. He had been part of the Brotherhood's mad conscription rush when the threat of the Enclave loomed over the Citadel, back in the Capital Wasteland. He had just made Knight when Liberty Prime stormed the Potomac and took back Project Purity. Sure, they had won, but the Enclave weren't done. Skye closed his eyes and allowed the images to pass through his mind. The fearsome Hellfire soldiers outflanking the Brotherhood at the Jefferson Memorial, the soldiers falling by tens to their Tesla cannons. Skye remembered lying on the ground, arms outstretched to a nearby cannon, still clutched by a vanquished Enclave soldier. He remembered his fist closing around the grip, and the aim he took at another soldier engaged in a firefight with his comrades. He saw the soldier, his finger gripped the trigger and he pulled and pulled and he didn't pull the trigger. He couldn't bring himself to risk his life how he was supposed to, and collapsed, still clutching the cannon. Hours later they were saved by that kid from Vault 101 and Sarah Lyons. The fight was over, until not long after the Enclave reared its head yet again, where they were yet again defeated, and this time for good. Skye shook his head. The Institute, the Outcasts, were nothing against the sheer force of will the Enclave presented. In the same way many Commonwealth citizens feared the Institute, so did Skye fear the Enclave. In his heart of hearts, the thought of the Enclave's might and resources made Skye weak with fear. The jolt awoke him from his reverie. They had arrived at the Prydwen.

"And that's the story as the Knight told it, Elder," Skye finished. Maxson digested this information thoughtfully before confirming two points.

"So the man the soldiers took away was the ex-Sentinel, Atwater?" Maxson asked. When Skye nodded, the second thing Maxson asked was "And the Vertibirds had a circle of stars on them? Was there an E in the centre?" Skye shook his head and told him that he did not know about a letter in the centre. Maxson deliberated in his head for a little while and then addressed him. "Thank you for this information, Paladin. I will call a meeting with the Proctors. We must discuss this immediately. Dismissed, Paladin."

Skye turned for the door, and then turned back to Maxson. "Elder?" he asked. "Is it… them? How can they have returned?"

Maxson stared grimly. "I don't want to jump to any conclusions, Paladin. But I would tell you and all members of the Brotherhood to prepare. The Enclave may well be back again."

Miles away, Simon Atwater stirred. The harsh white light glared directly at him, and he shut his eyes. The lights dimmed, and Simon opened his eyes again, staring around a remarkably clean hospital room. Across the room stood a doctor, writing in a chart. "Ah, you're awake! About time, I say." He approached Simon, who sat up. "Take it easy there, no rush, no rush. My name is Horace. Welcome to the Black Site. I'm sure you have many questions."


	3. Chapter 3: Let Sleeping Saviors Lie

Simon stirred and stared at the man, now introduced as Horace. He still had less than no clue of where he was, or how he was being treated with sterile medical equipment. Or so he hoped it was sterile, anyway. Horace had the appearance of a doctor, though anyone in a semi-clean lab coat and glasses could pass for a theoretical physicist nowadays, so that wasn't a foregone conclusion. Simon swung his legs over the sides of the bed and attempted to rise.

"Whoa, whoa!" Horace rushed over to him and steadied him as Simon's legs quivered unsteadily. "You did sustain quite a nasty wound to the chest there, friend. You're still in recovery." Horace was under strict orders to prevent any undue harm or damage from happening to the patient, which, having read a bit about the exploits of his charge, seemed almost an impossible task. Nevertheless, Horace intended to guide Simon through the Black Site without having Simon injured, maimed, killed, or doing any of those three things to the personnel.

Simon weakly sat back down. Words burbled to the surface, then disappeared with a pop. Eventually, he groaned, "Where…" It would still take a little more time being conscious before Simon would be properly functioning, but Horace was bored and alone and decided to talk to him anyway.

"The Black Site, friend. A little oasis in a sea of rubble, and in all honesty your saving grace. Do you know how many injuries you've had? We could barely run a diagnostic. Stimpaks are not a cure-all, in case you were unaware." Horace tried to avoid lying as much as possible. He was the sympathetic sort, but still did his job as best as he could. Right now Horace hoped that the wastelander would be receptive to his kindness, and would give kindness in return. Simon had indeed sustained a grievous injury from the Brotherhood soldier, and would have been killed almost immediately were it not for his armor. Even still, the wound was far from harmless and Horace had worked tirelessly since Simon arrived to try and stabilize him. It had worked. Probably better than most Wasteland doctors out there, as Horace had proper medical equipment. An operating table. Sanitization. Surgical masks. Nothing like those plague doctor impersonators.

Simon simply nodded. "How… how long…" he grunted out.

"A day or so. You should really lie back down. It's not good to do too much too quickly." Horace puttered about the room, checking dials and knobs on various shiny devices which made no sense to the average person, or probably most Wasteland doctors. They were monitored and checked and repaired almost constantly as part of Horace's medical duties. "I wonder how long it takes before he breaks something. These toughs are always the same," Horace thought to himself. Much to his relief, Simon lay back down and closed his eyes.

"What the hell do they want with him, I wonder," Horace said aloud as he carried on his duties. "Not that I would know. Why would they tell me anything? I'm only the man who patches up every single bullet hole in countless bodies." Almost on cue, a man dressed like an executive aside from some armor plating in certain areas entered the room. Horace briefly saluted, and then dropped his arm as the man approached.

"How is he, Horace?" asked the suited man, a nervous expression crossing his face.

"Take a look at his chart and see for yourself," Horace muttered, handing the man Simon's diagnostic chart. The man recoiled, turning slack-jawed to Horace. "My God, what a nasty shot. I suppose he's lucky we rescued him when we did." Horace responded to this with an audible cough. "Oh, of course, and because of you. He'd be DOA if we didn't have the greatest doctor in the United States of America by his side!"

"What a fucking ass-kisser," Horace thought, but responded with "It's my pleasure, sir. Just doing my part for the country." This mollified the suited man.

"When do you think he'll be able to speak with us?" the man asked.

"Christ, Godwin, leave him alone! The Wasteland's nearly got to him. It'll probably be a couple of weeks, at best!" Horace always hated that question. The quicker he sent off patients, the more likely he was to see them again, but worse. Sometimes all he had to do was look at them before sending for a coffin. Horace seethed internally about this as Godwin left the room to go report.

Clyde Godwin was a senior military officer, which of course gave him lots of sway in the decisions of the government. He felt a very personal stake in the well-being of Mr. Simon Atwater, as it was his gamble to bring him in in the first place. If Simon proved uncooperative, Godwin's ship was sunk. The news of Simon's convalescence was welcome, as it gave him time. Right now, Godwin was headed to deliver that news to the other senior officers. They were likely in the Cage where they always were. Ideally, he would deliver the news to the President himself, but even the senior officers did not have clearance to enter the Democracy. That privilege was reserved for the commanders. Instead, he was to go around the drydock and up into the intelligence center. God forbid they were at the Observatory, which meant an actual walk around the island. Several armed guards let him pass once he flashed his ID badge and entered the heavy metal doors leading to the intelligence center, dubbed "The Cage".

They had done a good job repossessing this place, but not a perfect one. Some of the automated defenses had been destroyed before the techs could get in and reprogram the hostile parameters. Godwin approached the nerve center, swarming with techs and computers and printouts and readouts and screens. It was protected from the rest of the area by a massive metal screen and a bulletproof locked door, hence the nickname.

"Permission to enter? Clyde Godwin. I have a report for the President and his commanders concerning Priority Target Charlie," Godwin half-yelled at the techs on the other side of the cage. One of them hastily typed into his computer before opening the door. "Briefing room B. I'll open the SatLink once you send the all-clear." This news crushed Godwin. A SatLink meant they were not there, and most likely at the Observatory. Godwin opened the Briefing Room, fired up a terminal, and sent the all-clear. About thirty seconds later the screen opened to the impassive face of Bishop.

"What news, Godwin? It better be important."

"You owe Horace a raise, or a promotion, or something. Atwater's recovering. Horace yelled at me when I asked how long it would take, but he said two weeks optimum." Godwin sighed audibly.

"Oh don't get your panties in a twist, this is good news. I'll make sure the President hears. I also think it may be useful for you to be Atwater's… sponsor, of sorts. Show him around, learn him the ropes, sell him the farm. Our records say Atwater's Pre-War military, so we should have a good chance of pulling him." Godwin started to voice a concern, but Bishop shut him down with a "Be happy with this news. This could be a major jumping point for you, my friend." Bishop severed the link and returned to his fellow commanders at the Observatory. "Godwin has just informed me that Atwater will recover, but it will take time. Now obviously the President will need to sign off on this, but I think it makes sense that we spend the next few weeks making this island and our ideas as welcoming to Atwater as possible. As much as I hate relying on one thing too much, he very well could be a lynchpin. We need him." This proposal was met by raucous laughter from his colleagues.

"Please, Bishop. He's a big piece but he's not the whole damn pie. We'll wipe the floor with the Brotherhood with or without him," one of his colleagues responded.

"True, but he is vital. All of our intel is sourced secondhand, from eyebots and eyewitnesses or impostors and plants. The best way to destroy your enemy is to truly know them, inside and out. Atwater is… was, a Sentinel. He's the right hand of the Elder. You may ridicule it, but I believe Godwin may have a strong point." Bishop was Commander of Wartime Intelligence, and as such had to take every potential angle with friends and foes. The only thing he struggled with was differentiating desperation and hostility, a trait which frequently drew criticism from his fellow commanders, and on a couple occasions, the President himself. Indeed, both he and Godwin were gambling on this move. "I should speak to him soon," he thought to himself.

"Alright, enough Atwater. Let's talk some other business," one of the commanders hastily brought up, trying to bring his area of expertise into the conversation. Bishop used this as an opening and excused himself from the conversation.

Elder Maxson seethed over the windows of the Prydwen. "The Enclave. The Enclave. Damn it, Skye, why did you tell me this?" The Enclave were a mythical figure, with Arthur only retaining memories of their defeat due to a couple noteworthy individuals, one of whom was now buried in a Brotherhood cemetery after being declared an enemy by half the Brotherhood and a hero by the other half. Maxson had never bought into the hero-worship of the kid, but recognized a damn talented warrior when he heard the tales. Still, the death of Sarah Lyons pierced at him whenever he recalled the story. No matter now. Lyons and the Wanderer were dead, and most of the Brotherhood remained in the Capital Wasteland. However Maxson tried to see it, he couldn't help but see the truth: they were overextended. Sure, their might was impressive, but there was one thing Maxson knew about the Enclave, and that was that they did not strike before they were ready. If the Enclave were returning, it was only a matter of time before they brought war upon the Brotherhood.

Maxson slammed his fist down on the console. "Damn it! Enough is enough!" They needed to make a stand. Come this moment, the Brotherhood would begin war preparations. If they had beaten the Enclave once before, they could do it again. They would do it again. Maxson would lead the Brotherhood to victory, as his bloodline had done since before the Great War. His gaze shifted to the imposing figure of Liberty Prime in the distance, and then his mind fell upon the image of Atwater. No. No matter how much ill will Atwater bore towards the Brotherhood, he would never join the Enclave. He couldn't, could he? Simon knew how dangerous they were. He would never.

Both Maxson and Godwin were thinking the same thought at that moment, as it turned out. "Would the Sentinel actually join the Enclave?" It was a mystery that meant everything to them.


End file.
